Luck is usually remembered for what happened. But there is another, much less visible form of luck.
Luck is usually remembered for what happened: an unexpected opportunity, an important encounter, an offer that arrived at the right time. But there is another, much less visible form of luck. Sometimes, what helped your life most was precisely what did not happen.
The accident that did not occur, the illness that did not appear, the mistake caught before it caused harm, the rule change that could have made a project unworkable but never took effect. None of these facts tends to occupy much space in memory because, for you, nothing happened. Life simply went on.
That is the difficulty. We remember interruptions, not their absence. A crisis that destroys a business becomes central to its story. Years of stability rarely receive the same attention. A serious illness changes an entire biography; decades without that illness seem merely normal. What does not interrupt our lives almost never seems to have taken part in them.
This does not mean we should imagine every possible tragedy and consider ourselves lucky to have avoided it. That would be impossible and pointless. The point is simpler: many projects depend on certain conditions remaining stable long enough, and that stability is not entirely under our control.
You may work for twenty years to build something and have made excellent decisions along the way. But for those decisions to keep producing effects, many things also had to avoid interrupting them. Your body had to keep functioning, certain structures had to remain available, and some events capable of changing everything simply never arrived.
That is why our own stories always seem more controlled than they really were. We clearly see what we did, but cannot as easily see all the interruptions that could have happened and did not.
Perhaps an important part of your luck never entered your memory precisely because it never became an event.
Originally published on Anttnio Carlos. Read the original article here.
